Skip to main content

Shaggy pedestals

High upon the carrot tops
tufted landscapes
Sit above the bog.
Stepping stone heads
With flowing Carex locks
Shaggy pedestal sedges afloat.

The dreich valley floor
Acid waters
Drookit underfoot.
Broken bracken
marking the way
Spoor to follow.

Spoopgroup
Poetry Theme(s):

Currently Popular Poems:

Paradoxical Party

Only inebriated by our own troubles, with no form of sobriety in society and so intoxicated by our own thoughts. We are just circling around one another in the party of that I see as life. When we meet a death of our paradoxical minds, the death of our bodies or both intertwined, life carries on. So, as we reside in our physical form, celebrate. Have your cake and eat it. Please don’t step on anybody else’s footsteps if they are not dancing to your rhythm. Dance your own design, truth is, the party never ends live to love in celebration and hold onto your hats! Lauren.x
View Poem »

River Stour, Sudbury

Mirror of ripples, floating tangles and bubbly foam. Swans racing The togetherness Of aqua. Sallow splashes Poplars tremble And minds drift. Jungle of reeds On vertical plane Moorhen hideout. Anon.
View Poem »

Twisted Love

Twisted trunk and milky stream, A glacial meltwater on serpent skin. Whirling optimistic messengers, Coherent and flowing, Yet random and broken Waiting to be spoken. Snake bark maple, And milky stream, Twisted love and shattered dreams. Anon .    
View Poem »

Pandemic

Piecing together all our hopes and dreams, joining the broken fragments of our lives, managing the pain of another loss, full of joy when finally together, society’s fabric hangs by a thread. Julia Duke
View Poem »

Chromatic Cornflowers

Chromatic cornflowers Pigments aplenty blooming Nowton park trooping. June colours endeavour A visual adventure Periwinkle magenta. Wedgwood, Delft blue The colours a clue To nectar collecting. Not Sainsburys points But food for honey A botanical checkpoint. Archie
View Poem »

Hidden Behind Plastic Shields and Masks

Hidden behind plastic shields and masks they smile at me but only with their eyes, there is love in each iris, lash and wrinkle wink. Who silently steps in the space between being neither here nor there? He watches her laboured breathing as tubes that had filled her lungs with life are now removed. I’ve breathed in and out without a thought for sixty-seven years but not now, I needed a machine but not anymore. Alone now and strangely calm - this is how it ends, the final cut. He looked at her gravely and slides beside her under covers of night. I feel his presence as a chill - wintery, I’m not dressed for this journey. A lantern held aloft in the forest of firs underfoot pine needles and snow the smell of resin and the crack of footfalls on icy ground. He smiles and I find myself smiling back a new doctor without a mask, weary eyes that have seen this all before and see too much I am weightless as a white feather drifting skyward. Ian Hartley
View Poem »

Counterbalancing

Fleeting sideways glimpses smash a rib I fall silently on my wing repair I despair. Fragments and bones crush a thought I rise and counterbalance a further day. Paula
View Poem »

Lost Moments

Lost Moments And searching souls Wasted time Looking for justice. Enters the courtroom A shudder of silence. Reflected sadness And searching souls A blanket covering Masking identities. Seeking survival of ideas and opportunities. Jenny
View Poem »

Cropped Birch

Cropped birch Waves scratching The shore Dropping lime green oaks Towering pines Rising above the moss drenched rock Candyfloss hawthorn softly breaking the dappled shaded rock. Maureen
View Poem »

Reason for Joy

Grey clouds smudge the skies, like a small child learning to write his alphabet. Grey skies oppress me, bear down on me. Stumbling on cobbles, I climb hump-backed bridges, watch raindrops bounce, falling then sinking into inky waters. Light gleams from shop windows, falls in yellow pools on the pavement; white lights string out along the canal. Darkness descends on wet streets, feeding depression. The bitter wind probes my upturned collar, bites hard with its vampire fangs. Mid-afternoon. The curtain falls; the solstice has arrived, darkest before dawn. On the shortest day things can only get better. Julia Duke
View Poem »